6 Things Dean Had to Explain
by A Ginger
Summary: ...and one he had to demonstrate. An unoriginal concept perhaps, but is anyone about to complain about some Destiel? Thought not. A little fluff and nonsense from me to you! Reviews would be great :D


_**A/N: Just a short fic to get my brain juices flowing while I try to write the next chapter of **__**Tethered**__**. That, and I feel like these "6 Things" fics are sort of obligatory (not to mention pretty fun to write). **_

_***bewaaaare the pointless fluff and run-on sentences of death***_

**6 things that Dean had to explain**

…**and one thing he had to demonstrate**

**~o~**

_**First – cross walks**_

Now that Castiel had started assisting on hunts, Dean was beginning to realize that his guardian pain-in-the-ass had no idea what he was doing. Sure, the guy could vaporize an entire room full of demons, teleport Dean thirty years in the past, or arrange a little chat with Cupid himself, but if it weren't for the buddy system, Cas would have wound up dead within days. Okay, so maybe he couldn't _really_ die, but he seemed set on trying to get himself killed.

Case and point:

"Cas! Hold up!" Dean grabbed the back of the angel's collar and yanked him backwards onto the curb. Just as Castiel's feet touched ground on the sidewalk, a moving van went zipping past at thirty-five miles an hour, honking its horn and all. Once the truck had passed them, Dean spun the angel around and for one strange moment felt justified to earn a Boy Scout Merit Badge (helping a dumbass seraphim cross the street).

All Cas could do was stare at Dean, waiting for instruction as if he _hadn't_ almost become road kill. "Are we no longer going this way to the motel?" he said flatly.

If Dean didn't already know it would be a waste of energy, he would have back-handed the angel. To substitute, he groaned and pinched the bridge of his nose. Sometimes, working with Cas was like hanging out with Rain Man.

"Dude, no, you can't just walk out into the middle of street," he said, trying to remain calm but failing to sound completely patient. "You've gotta wait until the light turns red and _that_ sign says you can walk." He pointed across the street to the lit red hand that at that moment flickered to a walking man.

Castiel looked between Dean and the sign. Like a kid wanting to prove he's all grown up, Cas without a word crossed the street. It would have been perfectly fine, if not for the fact that they were a good twelve yards from the crosswalk. Lucky for Cas, the cab driver pulling up to the red light had the good sense to slam on the breaks, narrowly avoiding taking out Castiel's legs. Back on the curb, Dean almost swore out loud, but stopped mid-sentence when Castiel turned his head to the cab driver and gave him the thumbs-up.

_Friggin' angels…_

_**Second – voyeurism **_

They'd managed to gank the poltergeist in town, and Dean thought it was time he took a bit of time to relax. He sent Sam out for food (_"And you better not forget the pie this time!"_) and headed to the bathroom for a nice long shower. The motel they were in was the same shit-hole as usual, but it had uncharacteristically good water pressure and one could shower for more than five minutes without being reduced to suffering through an arctic chill coming through the pipes. The hunter undressed and got in, sighing out loud as the jet of warm water splashed over his shoulders. His eyes closed and he reveled in his moment of peace.

Outside Dean's cone of silence and serenity, a certain pretty-boy angel had chosen that moment to pop in for a visit and a recap of their most recent hunt. Castiel looked around for a moment, finding that there was only one Winchester present at the time. But the shower was running, and the door was open, so he unabashedly went to the doorway of the bathroom with the intent of speaking to Dean – the soft sound of someone singing classic rock songs gave away which brother was occupying the shower.

But before he crossed into the small room, Castiel paused, remembering Dean's rules. 1) Four hours of sleep is the minimum, and 2) Never interrupt a man in the shower. Why the shower was such a sacred place, Castiel didn't know, but Dean had alluded on more than one occasion that certain "business" was taken care of under a cold shower. Judging by the steam on the windows, this shower was most definitely warm, but Castiel knew he should nevertheless abide by Dean's rules.

So he stood there, waiting. And, well, yeah, watching, but being the ignorant angel that he was, he saw no harm in that.

Dean did, though, as soon as he slid the shower door open and almost had a friggin' heart attack. On some note of forethought, he'd wrapped a towel around his waist before stepping out of the shower, but the shock was nonetheless six shades of unwelcome.

"Is something wrong?" Castiel said, his face betraying only a mild sense of emotion.

The hunter could only blink. With an out-of-character amount of self-consciousness, he gripped tighter at the knot where the two ends of his towel came together. He got the strange feeling that Castiel had noticed the cloth begin to slip down his hips, but he chalked the glance up to Cas' natural awareness. Clearing his throat, Dean brushed past Castiel and went to his duffle bag. It was a pain in the ass to try and unzip the bag, sort through clothes, and produce a pair of underwear all with one hand, but it was suddenly vital that he keep that towel firmly at his hips.

"Uh, no, Cas, nothin's wrong, really," Dean said rather thickly. He managed to keep the towel at a somewhat decent level on his body while his shimmied into his shorts, and after he was properly covered up, he turned to the angel.

Castiel was staring. Fixedly.

Damn it.

Dean sighed, running a hand quickly over his hair and sending water droplets flying from the cropped ends. "Cas, you've _gotta_ quite watchin' me like that, man."

Castiel's head tipped to the side. Damn if he didn't look like a particularly confused Beagle. "I always watch you, Dean. Isn't that my job?"

Again, the hunter sighed – although it was more of a groan. "Yeah, I guess so, but there's a difference between watching and, y'know, _watching_."

The slight pursing of Castiel's lips and the subtle lifting of his eyebrows told Dean that the words weren't sticking. So, he tried again.

"Cas, it's not exactly kosher to watch a dude while he's in the shower, got it?" Dean spread his arms slightly, making his half-naked state all the more obvious. When Castiel still looked confused, he said, "Man I thought you were gonna work on the privacy thing!"

Somehow, that clicked. Castiel cleared his throat behind his fist and trained his eyes at the ground. "Oh, I see. Well then, I'll uh…go." There was a fluttering of wings and the angel was gone.

Dean sat heavily on the edge of his bed, pinching the bridge of his nose. The only thing that could stop his encroaching migraine was a slice of apple pie and some aspirin.

The aspirin he had. The pie, well, turns out Sam forgot that again.

_**Third – telemarketers**_

A cell phone was necessary for anyone living in the twenty-first century, or so people said. Whether the vitality of cell phones was really so pressing for _everyone_, Dean knew that it was an essential tool for him, his brother, and their hapless guardian angel. Since the carvings in their ribs kept Cas or any angel from finding them by magic, Dean had gotten used to sending Castiel quick text messages with he and Sam's location. Really, he barely even thought about the technological middle-man anymore.

That was until, of course, someone _besides_ Dean or Sam started calling Cas.

"No, I don't understand, I don't _own_ a house—"

Dean was quick to snatch the cell phone away from Castiel, cutting his conversation short and snapping the phone shut. Cas looked utterly confused and completely put-out as he looked up at Dean.

"Dude," Dean said, "what the hell was that about?" He tucked Cas' cell into his own pocket, as if trying to protect the seraphim from mystery prank-callers.

Castiel glanced between Dean and Sam, the latter of who just shook his head and returned to his laptop with a smirk on his face. Dean wasn't sure when he'd taken on the responsibility of playing babysitter to their angelic compadre.

"The woman on the phone told me I needed to buy some kind of protection service," Castiel said. "When I asked her what it would protect me from, she said everything. Then, when I asked her about _demon_ protection, she very politely asked me if I was high."

Dean held back a snigger. "So what did _you_ say?"

"I told her I was barely above sea level."

_**Fourth – pro-wrestling**_

One of the major down-sides to living out of crappy motel rooms (aside from the circumstances that made this arrangement necessary) was the shitty TV reception. It was only 9:00pm – nowhere close to Dean's bedtime about six inches drowned in rain. The storm had started just after five, and it wasn't showing any signs of letting up. Now, Dean and Sam were stretched out in their beds, basically twiddling their thumbs while the shape-shifter tearing through the downtown area was free to do whatever a shape-shifter did on a Saturday night.

And for some reason, Castiel had joined them. The angel's presence was becoming so customary, though, that Dean couldn't even find the motivation to ask Cas if he wasn't worried about being late to his "nerdy accountants' singles mixer."

But back to the TV. It was stuck. On the only channel that was managing to come through with satisfactory clarity.

"I don't understand this," Castiel said – the statement was as customary as the angel's company.

Dean glanced away from the wrestling match on TV. Cas was sitting at the edge of Dean's bed, also facing the television set. Beside them, Sam was engrossed in the music coming through his headphones and whatever he was doing on his laptop.

"Aw c'mon, Cas, what's not to get about _this_?" Dean waved one hand at the TV. The brawny, olive-skinned platinum blonde guy was slamming the tall, tattooed brunette guy into the mat. It looked pretty straight-forward to Dean.

Castiel practically winced as the victorious blonde made a cry of what could only be described as raw masculinity and sweat. "No, I understand the violence. That makes sense to me. I'm a soldier after all, Dean. What I don't understand is _why_ these people are fighting." He looked over his shoulder at Dean; his eyes were on the surface so bright, innocent, almost naïve, but swimming just beneath the surface was the ever-living presence of the _true_ Castiel, the one who was mighty, powerful, and holy. It was a strange, almost unsettling mixture, especially with the background soundtrack of pro-wrestling heavy metal.

"_Why_?" Dean repeated.

Castiel nodded. "Yes. Battles are meant to be fought between people wishing to settle dispute. These men here are of the same race and hierarchy. They have no cause to fight."

Dean chuckled in the back of his throat. Onscreen, the platinum blonde wrestler was speaking in a serious-business sort of voice, threatening his next competitor with a broken neck and whatever else. "Things aren't like that anymore, Cas. People don't need a _reason_ to fight. These guys aren't exactly gladiators, either. They do it for the cash."

"And the women." Castiel's gaze was back on the television.

Some extremely "gifted" women were running their hands over the blonde wrestler. Since when had leather thongs and studded bras become part of your-regularly-scheduled-programming? Dean switched the TV off.

"World's goin' to Hell in a hand basket, Cas," he said. "Even the ugly dudes fightin' for cash get laid these days."

Castiel only nodded like Dean had read something from the Old Testament.

_**Fifth – twi-hards**_

The Winchesters didn't often buy clothes. In fact, they sort of avoided it. Sam didn't mind a new shirt or a pair of un-ripped jeans every so often, but to Dean, the very thought of having to "move into" an unfamiliar article of clothing was like messing around with a stripper without a condom. But, when Sam insisted for the _umpteenth time_ that Dean's favorite Metallica shirt was too stained with blood to even be called clothing, the elder Winchester was sent on his not-so-merry way with twenty bucks and a seraphim for company.

"Hate the friggin' mall," Dean muttered under his breath. He pulled into the local mall, which he could already tell would be crowded as all get-out. As he and Castiel walked up to the nearest entrance, Dean habitually grinned at every long-legged twenty-something who walked past them with shopping bags on her arm. Okay, so maybe the mall wasn't _so_ terrible.

On their way to the only cheap clothing store in the entire mall, they passed by a little cave of a shop. Its name was above the half-circle door in letters so deranged that they were nearly unreadable. Inside, an over-weight guy with more piercings in his face than fingers on his hands was ringing up an order for two teenage girls. Dean, without sparing the dark shop so much as a second glance, stopped to look up and down the strip of stores, just trying to get his bearings. _Stupid friggin' mall…why can't they put all the dude stores in __**one place**__?_

Castiel was watching the teenage girls with interest. They hardly noticed him at all when the exited the store (which was pretty odd, considering the way Cas was staring them down like a van-driver with candy). Their giggles were oddly girlish and elated, contrasting completely with their strictly black clothes and psychedelically-dyed hair. The girls went to a bench not far from where Dean and Cas stood.

"Ohmygod, I would let Edward bite me _any_time," the taller girl said. "I'm pretty sure I was a vampire in another life, anyway. So if Edward were, like, _real_, he'd definitely know I'm like _meant_ to be with him."

"No way," said the other, "Jacob is so much better. Like, I wouldn't even _mind_ if he imprinted on me when I was, like, a baby. Ohmygod, though, that's _so cute_. Like, how romantic would that be! Him and Nessie are _destined_ to be."

The taller girl continued to insist that Edward would be way better. The point that he's "always stone-hard" was brought into the mix, at which point Castiel went over to Dean and tapped him on the shoulder.

Dean turned away from the pretty Victoria's Secret employee who had stopped to chat on the way to her lunch break. Didn't matter, anyway, he already had her number written on his hand. "Yeah, Cas?"

Castiel pointed stoically to the two girls. They were at the moment admiring each other's newly-bought t-shirts, both of which bore the scowling images of their preferred fictional character.

"What is _that_?" the angel said.

Dean's eyebrows lifted without thought. He'd tuned into the girls' conversation as one of them was saying, "I actually don't even think it was gross that the vampire baby had to, like, _eat_ its way out of Bella's stomach."

When the hunter looked back to Cas, his expression was nearly blank enough to rival the angel's.

"We're never going to the mall again," Dean said.

Castiel nodded once. "Not without salt-rounds."

_**Sixth – "that look"**_

Dean sat down at the diner they'd chosen for their morning meal with one of his patented "adorably smug" sort of expressions. There was an extra degree of ego to his mannerisms that morning, and it wasn't long before Sam's questioning got Dean to own up to the pretty cocktail waitress he'd gone to bed with.

"I might swear off strippers completely, Sammy," Dean said at the end of his tale. "This girl, _man_ she was classy."

Sam looked doubtful, and told Dean as much. A world in which Dean bypassed a stripper was like a world without gravity…or God – hell, maybe it _could_ happen.

All Castiel could do was look between the brothers. Whether he was uninterested in the present conversation or just lost completely, neither option would have come as a surprise.

Dean leaned back in his seat, stretching his arms behind his head. He gave a satisfied sigh and said, "You should have seen this girl, Sam. All she did was give me _that look_ and it was like…man, I barely even had to pull the moves on her."

Sam laughed. "Yeah, Dean, she sounds real classy."

"What look?" Castiel said. He stared across the table at Dean. Beside him, Sam scratched the back of his head, clearly not touching _this_ one with a ten-foot pole and a bag of rock salt.

Dean sat up a bit. "Uh, y'know, _the look_." He couldn't think of any other way to put it.

Castiel remained cluelessly gaping at Dean. "I don't know what look you're talking about."

Sam chuckled again when Dean looked over at him, seeming to beg Sam to jump in. The younger man otherwise stayed silent.

"Well it's like," Dean said, stumbling for a moment, "like when you're tryin' to talk to a girl and she sorta looks at you in this way that's like… It means she wants you, basically."

"Wants you to do what?" Castiel said.

Dean ran a hand over his face, finding it hard to ignore Sam's cackling. "I thought I _explained _sex you, Cas."

The waitress that had then approached their table with a pitcher of coffee stopped short with a small squeak. Hastily, she looked between Dean and Cas, turning on her heel and retreating to the kitchen. Damn if they were gonna get service _now_.

"You did," Cas said, unperturbed. "But I don't understand what looks have to do with it."

"You _should_ with all the eye-sex," Sam mumbled behind his hand. Dean caught it anyway and kicked his brother under the table.

Dean turned his attention to Cas again, looking at him fixedly. "It's like this, Cas. You see someone you're interested in, and if they give you this look that says they want you too, then you're in. No words necessary, you just _know_."

"You know?"

Dean nodded. "Yeah, you know."

Cas still probably didn't know, but it'd have to be left at that.

_**And a demonstration…**_

Dean knew it would be a good idea to teach Cas some basic first aid, and boy was he right. They'd just gotten back from a hunt against a bitchy old witch ghost, which left Sam exhausted and passed out on his bed, and left Dean in serious need of a few stitches on his shoulder. Since it was clear that he couldn't manipulate his arms to stich a wound on his shoulder blade, it was up to Cas to help him out.

"You've got cold hands, man," Dean said. He was sitting on a rickety old chair while Cas sat behind him, cleaning the wound. As the angel's hands passed over Dean's skin with a wet rag to mop up blood, the hunter was forced to shiver.

Castiel chuckled under his breath. "My apologies. Angels tend to run cold." He set aside the bloody rag and took up a needle and thread that Dean had given him. It took several tries to actually thread the needle, and once he did, he hesitated.

"Well?" Dean said when the pause grew several moments long. "Not wimpin' out on me, are you?"

Cas shook his head. He placed one hand to the top of Dean's shoulder, wrapping his fingers around so that they barely brushed his collar bones. "No, just stay still."

The sting of the needle piercing skin was familiar, but by no means pleasant. Dean clenched his teeth, trying to focus on anything that his mind had to offer. He'd become something of a pro at displacing pain. "So, uh, thanks Cas."

"For what?"

Dean really wasn't sure, but it was better if he kept talking; it made the needle all but disappear. "For working with me and Sam all the time like this. Really, it's good to have you along. You've saved our asses quite a few times now."

Castiel didn't say anything, but maybe it was better that he focus on the stitching, anyway. When he tied off the thread, it was with gentle hands that were highly aware of every discomforting move they made against Dean's injury. He took one of the large bandages from the pile of supplies used to patch up both Winchesters, securing the sticky pad to Dean's shoulder. "Is that good?" Cas said softly, running one last finger along the edge of the bandage, making sure it was stuck down all the way.

Dean gave one roll of his shoulder. The stitches tugged and stung, but as far as home-sewn stitches went, it wasn't bad. "Yeah, it's good. Thanks, Cas." He turned in his chair, looking at the angel with a wry smile.

To his credit as a fussy accountant of an angel, Castiel began to clean up the supplies they'd used to clean the wounds on Sam's temple. There was blood everywhere, but really it failed to faze Dean anymore.

"Just leave it, Cas," Dean said. He put one hand to Castiel's arm, stopping him before he decided to clean the entire motel room or something. "We'll get it in the morning."

Castiel looked at Dean for one lingering moment, as if considering disobeying the request. Finally, he sat down again next to Dean. "Alright," he said. "So what now?" The angel splayed his hands on the table.

Dean shrugged. "I don't wanna go to sleep until I know Sam's okay for sure. Kid hit his head pretty hard."

"I could stay and watch over him for you."

"No way, man," Dean said with a chuckle. "Not interested in fueling your peeping tom habits."

It was obvious that Castiel didn't understand the term, but he didn't question it. The two sat in silence – save for soft, reassuring snoring from Sam. Dean reclined as best he could in the straight-backed chair. With a sigh, he let his head lull back.

"What is that?" Castiel said.

Dean looked back to him. "What's what?"

"On your neck. The bruise. You didn't get that in the fight today, did you?"

Dean put his hand to the side of his neck, realizing what Cas was referring to. "Oh. That. Uh, don't worry about that. I didn't get this one fighting." He chuckled.

Castiel gave him that look that meant he wanted Dean to explain.

"It's called a hickey, Cas," Dean said, laughing again. "You get 'em when someone sucks on your neck."

"Like a—"

"_Not_ like a vampire," Dean said. "It's a sexual thing, Cas."

Castiel shook his head, looking bemused. "Human sex is strange."

"Hey, don't go dissing my favorite hobby." Dean raised a finger to the angel, giving him a stern look which quickly melted into a grin. "You'd probably like it if you tried it. Well, maybe not hickeys. Not many people like those."

"So what, then, would you recommend?" Castiel raised one eyebrow. It wasn't often that he fell into such human behavior; in which he exhibited something resembling a sense of humor. It was times like these that Dean got the sense that he and Cas could actually be normal friends if not for the whole Heaven/Earth boundary thing.

Dean laughed, only barely reminding himself to keep it quiet so as not to wake Sam. "Kissing is a good place to start. Gotta walk before you can run."

"But I can fly, Dean," Cas said. His lifted brow fell, losing the humor.

"It's a figure of speech," Dean said. "But yeah, kissing would be a good place to start."

When had Dean leaned forward toward the table, mirroring Cas' position? Damn, must've hit his head too, because he never remembered actually leaning _closer_ to him. But there he was, a few inches away from Castiel. Their hands were practically touching already. Reflexively, Dean started to pull away, leaning back into his own zone of personal space. But before he could move, Cas caught his eyes as if their shared gaze was a real, physical tug. Dean lost all intention to move away. Instead, he leaned in – he leaned until he was close enough to learn that although Castiel's hands were cold, his lips were warm and soft enough to lose himself in.

Collectively, the two moved away by a fraction until they had enough room to look at each other again. Dean's head felt light, and his heart pounded in rhythm to the ringing in his ears. In truth, he felt like he'd be sick, until he saw a glimmer of a smile at the corners of Castiel's mouth.

"I see your point," the angel said. "Maybe walking is better than flying after all."

**~o~**

_**A/N: I will never pass up an opportunity to write Destiel fluff. - solemn oath**_

**To any of my readers out there who may like Twlight….leave. Like, scram. Now. **

_**Just kidding!**_** Maybe. The fifth section was for pure laughs, and I don't mean to flame against anyone's fandom (but in my defense, the conversation quoted here is almost verbatim to something I witnessed at the mall last week). **

**A new chapter of ****Tethered**** will be up soon, I promise! Hopefully you guys care, 'cause that fic is turning out to be my baby. 3**


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